Watched Him Die
by Rhiannon Merdon
Summary: Lorne hasn't been sleeping well since he shot Lindsey a year ago. Is it just dreams, or is there more?


**Watched Him Die**

_They were faced off again, the two figures from his reading of Lindsey. But this time it wasn't a reading, or even one of his infrequent visions; neither Lindsey's voice or any other broke the silence. Lorne could feel no emotion from either figure except the obvious tension, stretched so tightly you didn't have to read auras to be strung tight as a wire. Suddenly one of the two figures looked his way, and Lorne nearly screamed. It couldn't be. He had shot Lindsey, seen him die, lying at his feet. Lindsey glanced toward the other figure and some unspoken truce passed between them. Lorne gulped, feeling his throat clench, tight and dry as it had only been once before, and that in Pylea. As Lindsey and the other approached, Lorne could see the bullet holes in Lindsey's chest, dark blood staining the shirt Lindsey wore in twin circles._

_Lindsey drew closer, that inscrutable half-smile on his face._

_Lorne backed away and tripped. "Nooo!"_

He awoke, running one shaking hand over his face. "Saw him die...he's dead Lorne, dead and gone. Boy, you've really gotta quit watching those horror flicks."

Lorne rose from the bed, crossing the patterned carpet of the too-expensive hotel room to the bathroom. He flicked the light switch, shielding his eyes when they came on. He washed is face in cold water, trying to calm down. His face felt very hot, like the time he had squeaked onstage at Caritas. But this time it was fear, not embarrassment that made him so alert, and cold and feverish at the same time. Not that there was anything to be afraid of anymore...As he reached for the towel, he glanced into the mirror. His red eyes widened in shock and he whirled around, water dripping from his horns into his eyes and down his chin.

There was of course no one there. "You're getting jumpier than Jack Nicholson in _The Shining_, Lorne. You've definitely cracked." But he could've sworn Lindsey had been standing behind him, smiling still, blood seeping from his wounds. Wounds Lorne had inflicted more than a year ago. Lorne heard Lindsey's last clear words, the ones he had spoken before he had been shot

_before you shot him_

Again in his head, as he had so many times before. -_"Come on. I could sing for you."- _And saw clearly his affable, manipulating country-boy smile.

Lorne was shaking again, not just his hands but his whole body. His teeth chattered, and he climbed back into bed, resigning himself to another sleepless night. He put on his headphones and relaxed a little between the warmth of the bed and Aretha Franklin's voice. He began reviewing his plans and budget for a new karaoke bar, and fell asleep.

_He could see the figure behind Lindsey more clearly now. Tall and pale, his usual leather trench coat swirling like some terrifying mockery of Darth Vader, -Boy, you knew that had to be uncomfortable to fight in; stylish, though - was Angel. Lindsey paused an arm length from Lorne, and Angel stood at his side, whatever quarrel they had forgotten. They both stared at Lorne, expressionlessly. Even Lindsey was no longer smiling, and that terrified him. _

_"You failed me, Lorne. Did you think I would just let you go?" Angel vamped out, obtaining a gigantic broadsword like Mel Gibson's in that wonderful film, _Braveheart_. Lindsey raised a silenced pistol._

_"Look familiar, Lorne?" Lindsey's eyes gleamed and his teeth flashed as his smile reappeared, as though Lorne's plight amused him. _It probably did, Lorne thought miserably. _Lorne almost expected Lindsey to vamp out too._

_"Ever been shot before, Lorne? It's a one-of-a-kind feelin'. Hell, I should know."_

_Lorne could see Lindsey's finger tightening on the trigger, and knew he was going to die._

_"Wait!" He said, hating the squeak and quaver of terror in his voice. "I never wanted that mission, Lindsey. I hate killing - that's why I left Pylea in the first place - but Angel's the boss. And I wanted out. It was the last mission, the hardest one. But if I didn't finish..."_

_"But it was never about what you thought, Lorne, was it? You're just a flunky. Followed orders, right? 'You aren't a part of the solution, Lindsey. Never will be,' and all that crap?" Lindsey's face twisted, and Lorne was struck by the unwonted empathy he had always felt for him. _

_"I'm sorry, Lindsey...but you're dead. I killed you and you..."_

_Angel nodded to Lindsey._

_"I just follow orders too, Lorne."_

_The gun fired twice, a muffled double report he would remember for the rest of his life. However short that may be. Lorne screamed as the pain hit..._

And awoke again. The sheets were wet. His chest ached where a human's heart would be. Where he had shot Lindsey. It hurt to breathe. Lorne gingerly opened his eyes, and sneezed at the sudden brightness.

A cat sat on his chest, purring and digging its claws into his shirt. Lorne sighed and stroked its sleek head.

"Where'd you come from, kitty?" He rose and picked it up, cuddling it in his arms. The door was open, and a maid was entering backwards, pulling the cart of cleaning supplies.

"Oh my God," She said when she saw him.

_why did they always stare at his face? why the face?_

"Oh...um. I thought no one was in here. Most people are out at this time of day, especially when it's nice out like today...I'll come back later." She pushed the cart back out

_wow. what's a maid doin' with a behind like J. Lo?_

And turned around, beckoning to the cat. "Here, kitty."

The sun shone through the door, and Lorne dropped the cat, opening the curtains.

"No, it's okay. I'm on my way out anyway."

He pushed past her and outside, the dream shots still reverberating in his chest. His car was just down the road, his new bar a little further. He breathed deeply, looking up at the sunny sky. A warm wind blew his sweaty shirt against him

_disgusting. i can't believe i left the house like this_

Raising goosebumps on his arms and sending a chill down his spine. He shuddered, and realized he had left his hat in the room. Passersby were staring. Oh well. Only another block to the bar. A nice seabreeze would do him some good...for once he wished he could get drunk. Maybe then he could get some real sleep... or at least darkness without the nightmares.


End file.
